Release Blitz: Boys Don't Cry by JK Hogan Excerpt #Giveaway

Synopsis

Mackenzie Pratt is having the worst luck of his life. His apartment building is being torn down, and since he’s jobless and just weeks away from graduating college, he can’t find anywhere else he can afford to live that isn’t a critter-infested dump. As he’s lamenting the very real possibility of job hunting while couch-surfing, he gets an offer from the coworker of his best friend. An in-demand mobile app developer and heir to his parents’ fortune, Laurent Beaudry is literally an eccentric billionaire. Even though Mackenzie realizes he’s basically living the plot of a cheesy romance novel, he takes the proffered room in Laurent’s Baltimore mansion. He finds his new housemate to be grumpy, brooding, and, at times, incredibly kind and endearing. Raised by his brother after their father’s death, Mackenzie spent his formative years plowing headlong through school, focusing on little else beyond earning his teaching certification. He’s never taken the time to explore love and relationships, much less sexuality, so when he finds himself being courted by another man, he has no idea what to do. And when he realizes he might actually return those feelings, his life takes a whole new direction.

Excerpt

The house was dark so I couldn’t see
much, but what I could see was immaculate, contrary to what Taylor had said.
The hardwood floors gleamed in the moonlight, the furniture looked expensive
and perfect, and there wasn’t a dirty dish or dust bunny in sight. “I thought
you said it was a sty,” I whispered.

“Oh, this? Not this. He only uses a
fraction of the house, the suite with his bedroom, living room, library, and
office. All of this is just for show,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward
the big empty parlor we were facing. “And why are you whispering? He knows I’m
coming.”

“I don’t know. It seems so quiet
and…undisturbed.”

Taylor’s chuckle had an evil ring to
it. “You want disturbed? Follow me.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and
yelled. “Mr. Beaudry! It’s me, Taylor. Morrison. From Mindstream. The place you
work.”

He made his way down a dark corridor
with me dogging his heels. “He doesn’t remember who you are? Where he works?”

“Oh, he knows. But when he’s been
staring at code for hours on end and not sleeping, sometimes basic stuff slips
his mind. Details like that can be hard for geniuses like him.”

Genius? I didn’t think I’d ever
heard that term used to sincerely describe someone. “What does he do again?”

“He’s a mobile app developer. Highly
sought after, but right now he works exclusively for us. That was a huge coup
for the company.” He stopped in front of a heavy, ornately carved door made of
some kind of dark hardwood. He rapped his knuckles on it three times before
barging on in, while I hovered in the doorway.

So this was the suite. Taylor
had been right. What a mess. We stood in what I assumed was the living room,
but it was hard to tell because every available surface was covered in wrinkled
clothing, pizza boxes, and empty dishes. A huge fireplace was installed in the
far wall, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books. More books than I’d ever
seen in one place outside a library. The fire blazed in the hearth, and I was
honestly surprised there wasn’t any garbage close enough to it to catch fire.
As beautiful as the house was, the mess made my skin crawl. I usually lived in
shitty apartments, so I was a bit of a neat freak to balance the universe.

“Beaudry? You in here?” Taylor
called. There was no answer. “He must be in the bedroom suite.” He headed to a
door on the left, like it was no big deal.

“Wait! You’re just going to
barge into the guy’s bedroom?”

Pausing in his tracks, Taylor looked
over his shoulder. “This is no ordinary bedroom. Just because there’s a bed in
the corner doesn’t mean it’s some intimate setting. It’s just a giant
workspace.” With that parting shot, he burst through the door, once again
calling the man’s name.

Trembling from too much alcohol and
not enough nerve, I stepped inside the room. I was stunned speechless by the
scene before me. Taylor had one thing right—it was no ordinary bedroom. It was
the size of three average rooms lined up in a row and probably had double the
square footage of the apartment I was getting booted out of. There was indeed a
bed, a California king canopy bed off in one corner of the room. A fire was
blazing in this suite as well, only I realized that it was the same fire in the
same fireplace, which apparently connected the two rooms.

Taylor stood next to what had to be
the man’s workspace. There was a giant U-shaped desk adorned with four
widescreen computer monitors and various other gadgets typical of an office.
However, on one leg of the U, there was a collection of what looked to be every
tablet, PDA, smartphone, and any other mobile device known to man. I supposed
he had to test his software on each gizmo that was likely to employ it.

Behind the office area was a
ginormous TV screen—at least seventy inches—that looked like it would be more
at home in a movie theater. Several fluffy couches were set up in a semicircle
facing it. It would be amazing to have a movie marathon in this place. And of
course, there was every gaming console imaginable to go along with the screen
yardage. But…despite all the cool stuff, there was some very weird stuff
about the place as well. Besides the office setup and the movie area, all the
furniture in the suite looked like it had been bought from a garage sale at
Versailles. It was expensive-looking, obviously, but very gilded and frilly.
There were also several racks flanking the giant TV that displayed the man’s
sword collection.

And then, the murals. The murals
were creepy. On at least a couple of the walls above the wainscoting, there
were huge, garish wall paintings of nudes in various scenes. Men and women,
sometimes in sexual situations, sometimes just hanging out or whatever. But
they weren’t like Renaissance or fine art nudes or anything; they seemed to be
done by just some random modern artist. I had no idea how the guy could manage
to look at them all day every day. Though if it weren’t for those, I’d never
leave a place like this either. Speaking of the guy, though, there was no sign
of him.

“Where is he?” I was whispering
again. It just seemed like the thing to do when you snuck into someone’s
bedroom at night. Not that we were really sneaking, but still.

As if in answer to my question, we
heard a toilet flush, and a door to my right that I hadn’t even noticed swung
open, startling me. The person who came through was pretty much just as
unbelievable as the house he lived in. He was tall—very tall—and lanky, but
with wide shoulders and well-defined musculature. His hair was just a little
too long, like maybe he’d forgotten his last couple of haircuts, and very dark,
shot through with a tiny bit of gray. It had to be premature because I doubted
he was much more than ten years older than me. His facial features—though
thrown in deep shadow because of the low light in the room—were chiseled and
angular, too handsome to be fair to the rest of the world. Wire-rimmed glasses
perched on the tip of his straight nose, slightly askew. Despite the
handsomeness, he had dark circles under his eyes and frown lines around his
mouth, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. And he was wearing Angry Birds pajamas.

When he saw me, his deep-set blue
eyes widened and he flinched like I’d snuck up on him. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a squeaky gasp and backed
away toward Taylor because the guy looked fucking scary when he turned on the
full force of that scowl.

“Jesus Christ, Beaudry, relax,”
Taylor said. He picked up his briefcase and pulled out a legal-size envelope.
“This is my friend Mackenzie. I was driving him home, and I just popped in to
drop off these contracts from Harrelson.”

Beaudry grunted and crossed the room
to sit at his desk. He waved a hand in the vague direction of a stack of
shelves. “Just put them in the inbox. I’ll deal with them later.”

“If you look them over now, I can
take back any questions or return them…”

He glared at Taylor over his
shoulder, and Taylor wisely shut his mouth. Then the man’s gaze settled on me.
It wasn’t the scowl he’d given me earlier, but it wasn’t exactly a…nice
expression either. It was more of an assessing glare than anything. “Welcome to
Chatham House, Mackenzie. What do you think?” he asked.

I had no idea what he meant. What
did I think of the house? The room? Him? “It’s…impressive. The artwork
is…unusual.”

He let out a belting laugh that I
hadn’t been expecting, so I jumped, but then the rich baritone of it made my
toes curl. It was an odd reaction, as I wasn’t usually affected by such things.

“Unusual is a kind way of putting
it. The artwork came with the house, along with much of the furniture. I just
haven’t gotten around to redecorating.”

“Oh, that’s…” . “How long
have you lived here, then?”

Beaudry turned back to his computer
and began typing furiously. “About five years,” he answered without turning
back around.

I choked on air, and Taylor snorted.
“I think by ‘haven’t gotten around to it,’ you mean ‘just don’t give a shit,’”
he muttered.

“Touché, Mr. Morrison. Is there
anything else you need?”

Taylor sighed, probably realizing
that the man was not going to look at whatever was in the envelope while we
were still there to relay any messages back to Mindstream. He clamped a hand
around my wrist and started dragging me toward the door. “All right, we’re
going. Remember, drinks at the King’s Shield next Friday.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be—”

Taylor spoke right over Beaudry’s
muttering. “You already said you would. No backsies. I can pick you up.”

“I think I’d enjoy driving my shiny
Lotus instead, but thank you very much for the offer,” Beaudry growled. “Nice
meeting you, Mack,” I heard him call through the open door.

“Nickname basis already?” I laughed
to Taylor.

“That has nothing to do with
nicknames and everything to do with your name being too long for him to
remember.”

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Meet the Author

J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, magic happened. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them. J.K. is hoping to one day have a little something for everyone, so she’s branched out from m/f paranormal romance and added m/m contemporary romance. Who knows what’s next? J.K. resides in North Carolina, where she was born and raised. A true southern girl at heart, she lives in the country with her husband and two sons, a cat, and two champion agility dogs. If she isn’t on the agility field, J.K. can often be found chasing waterfalls in the mountains with her husband, or down in front at a blues concert. In addition to writing, she enjoys training and competing in dog sports, spending time with her large southern family, camping, boating and, of course, reading! For more information, please visit www.jkhogan.com.